


Peachy and His Boston Boy

by orphan_account



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Boston! Luke, Fluff, M/M, Southern! Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 19:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8503249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: michaels a nashville boy born and raised and luke is a boston boy born and raised who moved to nashville to persue his music career nd bumps into a pretty boy with pink hair





	1. Chapter 1

Michael tends to keep to himself. Growing up pansexual in Tennessee isn’t the best of situations, especially in his case. His hair always changed color; recently he changed it from his favorite sea green color to a light lilac. His friends knew he was pan, and they all accepted him, thankfully. Most of the time when he’d finally get the nerve to come out to people, their initial reaction is “so you fuck pans?”, which, no. Not quite. Michael’s just a very love-y boy. He hasn’t always kept to himself, though. All throughout school until the dreaded middle school days, he was very affectionate around his friends. In pre-school, he was always sharing his blocks or bubble wands with all the nice boys and girls, always volunteering for the missing part when his friends wanted to play house. He’d invite his best friend, Calum, over and they’d be in a band, singing into Michael’s Wiggles microphone and bopping along to Hot Potato on the matching guitar accessory. When third grade rolled around, he continued being affectionate. He’d hold hands with his friends in the halls, or kiss them on the cheek before school started. He was still ever close with Calum, except now they were using actual guitars. In around 6th grade, Michael had to conform to normality and stop being so affectionate, which definitely made him upset. However, despite social norms, he still found time to snuggle Calum on the weekends, or cry about how he wishes he could hold Luna’s hand in the halls again without being called her boyfriend. Calum always was there for him, giving suggestions and cheek kisses when needed. 

It was just a matter of time before the two started dating. From the beginning of 7th grade to about March of the same year, their relationship prevailed. They broke up though, but they never lost the friendship or affection. Michael would still call Calum over when he needed a pick me up or a back rub or an intense game of FIFA. 

Michael, now 18 years old and freshly high school graduated, has never felt better. He goes into Nashville nearly every day and spends most of the day there. He always has his acoustic with him or in his car, and he usually busks on the streets of Broadway, near the river and Hard Rock Café. When he got hungry, he walked up to Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge to get some food and maybe watch a set of some band he’s never heard of. Once he was done, he’d drag his guitar back to his car and park it in the parking lot by his mom’s work, then leave and sight see, finding new places even though he’s lived there his entire life. 

His favorite part about Nashville is probably the music scene. Shocking, right? A musician’s favorite part of Music City being the music. But in all honesty, he loved the diversity of it. He loved how you could walk down Broadway on a Wednesday evening and be overwhelmed with music coming from every direction. He loved how in one bar it is rock music but in its neighboring restaurant, it is the sweet drawls of country music. He loves how when he takes requests from passerby-s, he’s gotten anywhere and everywhere from Dolly Parton’s biggest hit to Nirvana and Sex Pistols within a song. He’s used to the little girls and overexcited teenage girls (who he thinks are adorable and can’t be mad at because he’s just as passionate about music as they are to the song they request) asking him to play their favorite Taylor Swift song, he’s gotten the snobby guys walking around in all black and have chains connecting their wallet to their belt asking him to play Stairway to Heaven or some elaborate rock song they think he won’t know, and he loves it when he proves them completely wrong, because he loves seeing the smugness drop from their face and the disgruntled extra few cents they throw in his guitar case as they leave. 

Perhaps above music, Michael’s favorite part about Nashville is the fact that every Tuesday around noon, at Centennial Park, there’s a pretty blonde boy who’s always got his nose in a book or writing. He holds himself differently than those native to the South, more confident. Michael is absolutely in love with this boy, him and his button nose and pretty smile. He makes sure to skip out on the Orchid Lounge or Puckett’s on Tuesdays so he can eat lunch in the park, watching the blonde from afar, maybe writing poems and lyrics but that’s for him to know. One Tuesday, Michael passes the blonde and drops something on accident, bending down to pick it up. Both him and the blonde reach for it, and Michael feels like he’s caught fire. The blonde just smiles up at him, handing his journal back to him. 

“’Michael’s Lyric Journal?’ I’m assuming you’re Michael then?”  
Michael is stunned silent, this boy has to be from somewhere up North, New York?

“Uh, yeah. That’s me. What’s your name? I see you around here sometimes.”

“Luke! My name’s Luke! And, uh. Yeah. See you around too. I love it here, y’know? Back where I’m from we don’t have many trees, and Nashville is so…”

“Foresty? Yeah, I love how much nature we have here. Where are you from? Your accent sounds like, like, I dunno. Somewhere North.”  
Luke laughs quietly, looking down and smiling. 

“Yeah, you got that right. I’m from Boston originally, but I’ve been living here, going to college.”

“Yeah? That’s so cool! So like, this is gonna sound real dumb, please excuse me. Is it really as cold as everyone says it is up there? Like, I know y’all have a hockey team an’ all, but so do we?” 

“Yeah, it’s pretty horrible up there, but you get used to it. I love the snow and below freezing, so I guess that helps. And you guys have a hockey team? Wicked! They any good? You pay any attention to them?”

“Um, yeah, surprisingly. Most people just think, oh, hey, he’s got pink hair, obviously he’s someone who prefers Gaga over sports. Which, to be fair, is pretty true, but I love hockey. I dunno. And, hell yeah we’re good. Y’all kicked our asses in the playoffs though.” Michael rambles, sitting down beside Luke.

“Ah, sorry man, just can’t beat the Bruins.” Luke replies with a smirk, leaning backwards.

“Uh, not to burst your bubble Boston boy, but didn’t the Bruins last win the Stanley Cup in 2011? What year is it again, 2016?”

“Well, Peachy, we’ve only not won because our piece of shit goalie had his shit shuffled around last year, and, not to be that guy, but have the Preds ever even won the Cup?”

Michael glares at Luke, and Luke knows the answer to his question. 

“No, but! You can’t hold that against us! Your fuckin team keeps kicking our ass! We’re just trying to have our Southern hospitality and y’all come in with your accents and players who’re used to cold ass weather! They probably grew up on ice, birthed and all in the snow.”

Luke’s laughing now, rubbing away tears.

“Mikey, so were your players! They’re mainly all up from Canada anyways.”

“Instead of bickering can we grab coffee? There’s a Starbucks across the road?”

“Classy. Get a man heated about his hockey then ask him out for coffee. But yeah, lead the way Peachy.”

“’S Michael.”

“But you’re cute as a peach and from the South, so it fits. You’re Peachy now.”

“Luke, peaches come from Georgia, this is Tennessee.”

“What comes from Tennessee then?”

“Uh, country music, racism, sexism, more country music, turn to the left here and wait a sec, jaywalk and you’ll be shot by an ignorant asshole, and uh. Even more country music. We grow peaches here too, just not as much as Georgia, and they don’t taste as good.”

Luke smiles and grabs hold of Michael’s hand, crossing the road.

“Is it cool I hold y’hand? I dunno, I love affection, and I feel like we’re pretty close already. I’ll stop if y’want me to.”

“No, no. It’s uh. You’re good. I have to come up with a name for you now. If I’m Peachy, you have to be something too.”

“Mmm, what about, ass kicker, since I’m from Boston and we kick your ass in hockey?”

“Fuck off, no. Uh-“

“I liked Boston boy.” Luke sheepishly said as they entered the coffee shop.

They ordered their drinks and took a seat at a table by the window, still holding hands and causing butterflies to erupt in Michael’s stomach. They chat for a while, about music and Boston and their cultural differences. Michael’s giggly and explaining his sexuality, glancing up at Luke who’s smiling and giggling along. 

Months pass of their friendship, and Luke basically lives with Michael now. He’s always over, and he’s always with Michael’s acoustic and a pen behind his ear, writing melodies and lyrics for his Composition major at Belmont University, the college Michael always wanted to go to but was always too broke to afford. Sometimes Michael helps Luke write, singing little bits or correcting a chord here and there. Michael’s apartment is scattered in guitars and notebooks open to pages scribbled on with lyrics, headphones found basically anywhere. It looks like a true musician’s apartment would, messy but organized. 

When the nights come along, Michael usually orders in pizza or Chinese food and demands Luke put away his work and watch Netflix with him. Luke usually complains about how the Chinese in Nashville doesn’t compare to that up North, and he promises to one day take Michael to get some good Chinese food from up there. Michael always smiles and nods, wanting nothing more than that. 

After their 6-hour binge watching ends, Michael pulls Luke with him into bed, because that’s just what he does with friends. He won’t let anyone sleep on the couch unless no one is physically capable of sharing a bed with him. So that’s how he finds himself being spooned by Luke, who is singing quietly in his ear and rubbing his tummy. 

Luke has the most angelic voice, Michael thinks. He’s always singing-in the shower, during snuggles, in class, writing songs, you name it. Michael loves his voice. Luke knows that. Sometimes he’ll sing disgustingly off pitch, and they’ll both erupt into giggles and end up hurting from smiling. Luke’s always making Michael smile. Sometimes, when they’re on their late night grocery runs or walks to bars, Luke will start looking around and just smiling so widely, and then mumbling a line under his breath and quickly pulling out his phone to jot it down. Michael is amazed at how he can find inspiration in everything; he’s read lyrics so beautiful he nearly cried and when he asked Luke what they were inspired by, he smiled and said “oh, the Junebugs! They’re always chirping y’know? We don’t really have that in Boston.” 

One night, as they lay snuggling, Luke opens his mouth like he was going to say something, but abruptly closes it. Michael dismisses the wonder of what he was going to say, too lost in the smell of Luke’s shampoo to bother asking. The next day, Michael says he’s going to go home for a day or so, and that Luke should tag along. Luke happily agrees, saying he wants to try the apple pie Michael says is the best in the world.

Michael really, really loves the South. He loves how there’s constant chirping from night bugs and he loves the fact that everywhere you go there’s going to be a nice person who calls you honey, or sugar, or something endearing in an edible manner. When they arrive at his mom’s house, Michael brings in Luke, introduces him, and hugs their dog. When he stands back up, his mother smiles and opens her arms for a hug. Michael grins and runs into them, muttering a “Hey mama” against her neck. 

“Hey plum. How’s life treating you?”

“Uh, ‘s really good mama. Music is a hard thing to do, y’know? But I like to think I’m doin well.”

“I’m sure you are Mikey. Now, what about him? He doing music too?”

Luke pipes up, smiling. 

“Yeah, I’m actually a Composition major at Belmont, Michael’s letting me stay with him so tuition won’t leave me in debt forever. Y’gots a good kid there on your hand, Mrs. Clifford.”

“That’s wonderful! And I know, Michael’s the best.”

“Mama, stop it.”

“Oh, hush. You are. Are y’all stayin for supper?”

“Mmm, yes ma’am. What is it?”

“Chicken dumplings? I made my apple pie too, Luke, honey. You’re gonna love it.”

“Michael always raves about it, I’m sure I will. It’ll have to be a lot to beat my ma’s though.”

“Yeah? She put cinnamon flakes in there?”

“…Cinnamon flakes? No, I don’t think so.”

“Well honey, I do. You’re in for it.”

“Michael if I have to call home to tell my ma that I’ve betrayed her pie trust for your mama’s pie, I dunno what I’ll do.”

“Get the line ready, Boston boy. My mama’s got the best pie there’s ever been.”

That night, they spend the night at Michael’s old house, sleeping in the bed from his childhood. They’re both a little tipsy, just a little, and they’re giggling and sharing stories from their teenage years. Luke nearly hits his head on the headboard when Michael tells him about the time when he nearly got busted for sneaking out to fuck his boyfriend, but covered it up by saying he had been feeling really upset so he was sneaking out to go to church to pray for help. Michael nearly did the same when Luke told him that he used to sneak out and get high with his friends and when he got caught walking in the front door, stoned off his ass, at one am, he told his dad that he was coming in late from practicing music on the porch but locked himself out. He didn’t know how his dad believed him, but he did. 

After hours of chatting, they snuggle closer. Michael listens to the Junebugs chirp and falls into the rhythm of Luke’s heartbeat as Luke plays with his hair. Just as Michael is about to fall asleep, Luke starts talking.

“Hey, Mikey, you up?”

“Mm, mmhm”

“No you aren’t, go to sleep Mikey. I can wait.”

And Michael does, but, just before his mind loses control, he hears Luke whispering again:

“I think I found my new nickname, Peachy.” He hesitates, and Michael almost dozes off, but Luke continues in an almost inaudible way.

“How’s boyfriend sound?”   
Michael smiles and reaches down to lock hands with Luke, squeezing firmly as an affirmation.


	2. Theory and Composition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so i decided to do a part 2!!! this is more focusing on luke going to belmont and michael supporting him ((aka i get to write about how bad i wanna go to belmont but im too broke to afford it lmao)) this is also a lot of dialogue i didnt mean for that to happen im sorry

The boys returned back to Michael’s little apartment in the city. The few days they spent with his mother brought them so much closer than they were before; they now called each other boyfriend. Michael made sure to get back to his place at a reasonable hour because he knew that Luke had a big composition he had to turn in and a recital coming up that was a huge portion of his grade. 

Luke is really into his major. Michael thinks it is super cute, and when he brings it up, Luke just smiles and waves about five notebooks, that are filled to the brim with notes and music sheets and lyrics he’s scribbled down, at him with a laugh. Sometimes, when Luke is sleeping or in class, Michael looks through the lyrics he’s written or plays through the melodies he’s scribbled down for his classes. He has so much pride for his boy; Michael wishes with every fiber of his being that he could go to Belmont as well, but he’s always never had enough money. He gets sad over it sometimes, but then Luke walks in with a mocha and a big grin on his face, army green bag slung over his shoulder with notebooks nearly tumbling out. 

“Mikes! Guess what?” Luke exclaims happily.

“Mm? What is it baby?” Michael replies, shutting the notebook of Luke’s he was reading.

“So. Remember how I have that recital tomorrow?”

“The one I can’t go to against my will that I nearly fought your director over for seats?”

“That’s the one. Well. Just so happens that your loving, ruggedly handsome boyfriend managed to get you in! You’re coming tomorrow whether you want to or not!”

Michael stands up and rushes over to Luke, picking him up a little and kissing his nose.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Boston boy.” He says, whispered into the crook of Luke’s neck and shoulder.

“Yeah? Even if I told you I was assigned to do a medley of the most awful songs from 1990 until now?”

“Especially then. I’d love to hear your angelic voice belt out Never Gonna Give You Up and go into a rendition of Bring Me To Life. Maybe throw in All Star or Hey Ya. That’ll really sell it Lucas.” Lilac haired boy replies, placing gentle kisses to Luke’s neck.

“Rick Astley was in 1987. That’s not in the 90’s.” Luke giggles out, squirming away from Michael’s relentless neck kisses. “And no hickies, not yet. Recital is tomorrow, don’t wanna look too fucked out.”

“Hmm.” Michael frowns. “How about you give me some of your coffee and I won’t leave any visible marks?” Michael replies, making grabby hands at his mocha.

“Deal. None on the neck or areas the white button down that I never button shows.” 

“But Lucas, my love, my asshole Northeasterner, your collarbones are so perfect for biting. Please, let me express my undying love for you by leaving bruises on your collarbones. Wear a different shirt, wear mine, don’t care, I just wanna leave hickies.”

“But Michael, my love, my sugar sweet Nashville plum. Don’t you think the point of me wearing that white button down was to fuck with you? I know how you get when I wear it, and who’s to say I don’t want a nice fuck after the recital?”

“Luke. It’s gonna be like. Noon.”

“And?”

Michael muffles his noises of protest against Luke’s cheek.

“Noon is early.” 

“Hasn’t stopped you before Mikes.”

“Aye! Hush! Go prepare for your recital, you need a good grade to pass y’know.”

“No Mikes, completely unaware that my recital, used as a final, will need to be passed. No clue, none at all.”

“Go play me a song. No, wait, write one about me. You’re good at that and it boosts my ego.”

“Yeah? That’s good. You southern folk need an ego boost. You’re all too sweet.”

“Better than assholes who will run you over if you’re not looking. Or looking, for that matter.”

“Wasn’t one of the first things you said to me was to not jaywalk in fear of getting shot?”

“Play a song, music boy.”

Luke grins and belts out Piano Man as he walks to grab his guitar.

The next day, Luke is ecstatic and nervous and sweating and it’s only ten am. He’s sitting with Michael outside the hall where he’s performing in a few hours. Michael holds his hand, reassuring him that he’s gonna do amazingly, like always. Luke let’s out a small nervous whine and flops his head onto Michael’s shoulder, squeezing his hand tightly. 

“Y’wanna go over the piece hon?”

“Mmhmm.”

And so he goes over the piece in front of Michael, and Michael smiles and continues holding his hand and telling him to remember to breathe. As the person before Luke is finishing up, he begins reciting what he’s supposed to say before the performance.

“Hi, Luke Hemmings, Theory/Composition major. Acoustic guitar and voice, original piece.”

“Okay Lukey, you got this. I’m gonna be right in the crowd yeah? I’ll be right in there with you. Love you. Go kill it Rockstar.”

“Michael this is acoustic.”

“Yeah and?”

“Whatever. See you soon.”

As Luke walks up on stage, Michael’s heart soars. His boy was meant for the stage; all the glimmering lights and acoustics around him makes him look like a real, like, music guy. As he drawls out the lyrics to a song, his song, Michael realizes he’s never read this set of words before. Luke seems so comfortable and in his element and he’s smiling and strumming away, singing the lyrics he’s spent months correcting. Michael realizes a theme here; it’s all about them. There’s allusions to greens sparkling, which Michael assumes are his eyes, and lilacs and blues and daffodils- all of the things that Luke has said remind him of Michael. There’s lines about how Junebugs chirp at the early morning hours, and how the sun shines through dusty white curtains. There’s so many metaphors and similarities in his lyrics to what happens between them, and Michael can’t help but be left with teary eyes and a huge smile because his Boston boy wrote his final exam piece about him, them, and he’s overwhelmed. He mentions something about how ethereal the sunlight looks pouring out over Michael’s face in the early mornings, how the moonlit room and whispered affections never cease to make his heart thrum like a drum line. And by the end of the song, Michael is completely okay with admitting that his boy, Luke Hemmings from Boston, Massachusetts, made him cry. 

When Luke meets Michael in the hallway once more, he gets engulfed in a hug paired with sloppy kisses and mumbled “I love you”’s. 

“You-Lucas. Me?”

“…Michael?”

“Yeah?”

“You-Lucas, Me…?”

“Oh! You-you wrote your final about me?”

And Luke smiles, brushing away Michael’s floppy hair.

“’Course I did. A final is like, a big thing that will choose your path, kinda. Like you. A big thing that has guided my path, and what a better inspiration for a final?”

“Luke Hemmings.”

“Michael Clifford.”

With a gentle kiss and a squeeze to the hand, “Let’s go home Boston boy.”

“Lead the way, Peachy.”

**Author's Note:**

> this legit killed me im from nashville nd nashville michael literally sets me on fire  
> i hope yall enjoyed this!!!!!


End file.
